


umoya

by poalimal



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableism, Child Abuse, F/M, Gaslighting, Gen, Grief, Intimate Partner Violence, Misogyny, Obsession, Racism, Rage, Revenge, Spoilers, Survivor's Remorse, The Diaspora, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: They put him in the water, they try to send him home - but the spirit of N'Jadaka will not leave them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a. I do not speak Xhosa. Please correct me if you see any errors!  
> b. This fic contains the n word. If you are not black, please do not quote it back at me!

  

They carry his body with them four days and four nights, and on the fifth day they reach the ocean and bury him there. A foreigner's burial. They bury him with songs and weeping and silence, for he was their son and he was lost to them, but he returned to them with an ash-filled heart.

They put him in the water, they try to send him home - but the spirit of N'Jadaka will not leave them.

Women get dragged into the waves and die choking deaths, the land nearby no longer takes seed. Good hearts, they say, go rotten there.

They do not tell the King.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

\--ed-that-bitch-and-ill-kill-you-too-i-dont-give-a-FUCK-ill-kill-you-ALL-you-think-you-can-stop-me-you-cant-stop-me-you-cant-NEVER-stop-me-you-niggas-dont-even-know-HOW-to-fight- _fight_ - _it_ - _fight_ - _em_ - _kill_ - _em_ -you-only-know-how-to-hide-but-you-cant-hide-from-me-you-tried-to-take-me-down-but-look-at-me-now-ha-haah!

you-see-me.

 

* * *

 

Alone, T'Challa walks through the palace. Each room opens to him as he passes... but he does not go inside.

He has been walking for some time, waiting and watching, when the sky opens up and throws down its lights. He pauses then, for he hears a laugh like thunder.

Nakia! His heart races ahead of him out of the palace, and he follows without question. She must be waiting for him down in the garden. She has not left him yet. She cannot leave him; she must not. She loves him, and you do not leave someone you love behind.  
  
Into the garden he goes in search of his love, but the air is so cold it bites into his flesh. Now what is this? Perhaps it is one of Shuri's experiments - but Shuri has not yet been born. T'Challa is but a young child himself, and he has only just lost his minders.

He winds his way deeper into the garden and finds his stomach and heart become one. Eh eh... what has happened to this place? Have the junipers always been so shrivelled and bleached? Have the blood lilies always drooped and oozed so?

The more horrors he discovers, the more it seems as though he is walking through bogland, dragging his feet down into the muck. Fury comes to him easily. Whoever has done this... will be punished.

And what is that smell?

He sees the man among the trees and his body becomes ice. He watches, barely breathing for rage, as the man pours out onto the roots a bucket of something foul and bitter and thick. It spreads unnaturally up the trees, up the walls, up the man's own legs and arms and trunk, stenching the very air they breathe.

T'Challa raises his hand to strike - but then he pauses. For this man seems to him very familiar.

...Ungubani? he says, to the man's back. Ehh?

He hears his voice as it is now - and he wonders for the first time that this must be a dream.

The man tosses the bucket clattering to the side and turns around. There is that sound again, that noise that sounds like thunder shaking the earth.

Whatever T'Challa's face is doing makes Erik smile.

wassup-cuz, he says.

 

* * *

 

The five-month since Zuri's death has still not passed, and Lulama will see no man. So T'Challa sends little Ntombizodwa to her upon waking.

And this is what Lulama tells Ntombizodwa.

'The spirit of N'Jadaka wanders the waters restlessly in search of something. Bast tells me he walks your dreams already. This means his spirit grows stronger still, and yet more hopeless.

'Now you must take two leaves from this plant, the soulfarer, and hold them beneath your tongue for five days and four nights. For five days and four nights you may not touch your tongue to word or to food - and on the fifth night you must go to the water alone. Carry the soulfarer with you, and when you reach N'Jadaka's resting place, take the leaves from your mouth and grind them till they are soft. Spread the pulp over your eyes and make a bed near his grave.

'He will come to you while you dream, and he will carry all of his rage with him. It is then that you must walk the steps of his life with him. If you stumble, he will kill you, and curse you to walk beside him for the rest of your days - but if you defeat him, the soulfarer will take him, and that land will finally know peace. You must know our neighbours will find this a great service, for they fear us too much to seek our aid in this.'

Few mourn Erik. Lulama will never be one of them. 'That is a fine and good thing, yes,' says T'Challa, 'but will my cousin find rest?'

Little Ntombizodwa carries his question to the holy woman, and brings back this response.

'The mad ones,' says Lulama, 'can find no rest.'

 

* * *

 

Lulama tells the people that the King has a holy task before him and must be left alone. The only voice he hears is Aneka's when she sings out to relieve Okoye in the mornings.

He spends the first day reading about the soulfarer, born from the breath of a sleeping Bast. He reads of its blue leaves, which turn black when a soul occupies the plant, and green once the soul leaves. But where does the soul go? That, he cannot find.

Still he keeps searching - and it is a good thing he does so on that first day, for on the second day he can fix his eyes on neither screen nor page. He is irritable and thirsty and can barely muster up a prayer. And he misses Nakia like someone set flame to his body.

By the third day the juice of the soulfarer leaf coats the entire inside of his mouth. T'Challa's mind goes on ahead of him, waiting for the rest of the hours to slip away. The fourth and fifth day are the longest and loneliest in T'Challa's life.

And on the fifth night, near the waves, Erik comes to him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

you-think-you-know-me-huhh? Erik bares his teeth. nigga-you-dont-know-shit.

 

* * *

 

'I said, take a bath!' Ms Dolan knocks him up against the head so hard his vision goes cloudy, and his ears start ringing.

'I told you,' he says, ducking out from under her swinging hands, 'I already took a fucking bath!' He didn't even do anything today!

Ms Dolan catches him by the legs, lifts him up and throws him against the bathroom wall. His head cracks against the tile; he crumples down the wall with a little grunt. Ms Dolan comes and stands over him and rains down punches all across his body.

'You don't. talk. to. your. momma. like. _that_!' she says through clenched teeth. 'You dirty little--'

'You aint my momma, you fat bitch,' he howls, kicking her hard in the chest, 'I hate you, I hate you, I _hate you_!'

'I think he hates me,' Ms Dolan cries, one week later, in Betsy's office. 'He's always getting into fights at school and making a mess at home. And I try to understand him but he just keeps shutting me out-- and calling me horrible names! He gets so aggressive sometimes, and it, it scares me. I know this is a hard time for him, but I wish-- I wish he would just let me help him!' She dissolves into huge heaving sobs. Lying ass bitch.

Erik rolls his eyes and sends a look Betsy's way. Betsy's the only case worker he's ever liked, Betsy gets him, Betsy will believe--

But Betsy is staring at him hard, white-lipped. 'Erik, I really expected better of you,' she says, shaking her head. 'Now, I don't know how your father raised you, but people like us don't use violence to solve our problems.'

Erik sits back hard. He can feel his face getting hot and tight, but he doesn't cry. Nah - enough of that shit. Instead he goes to that place in his head where nothing can touch him, and he thinks carefully about her words for the rest of the day.

Peo-ple... like _us_ , she said. And what do Betsy and Ms Dolan have in common?

Come, N'Jadaka - you are the smartest boy I know, his father says, his voice smaller and smaller everyday, I know you can figure this one out.

From his dirty mattress on the floor, Erik scoffs aloud. 'C'mon, baba,' he says, because sometimes he still forgets, 'that one's easy.'

 

* * *

 

T'Challa's head is still ringing when he is himself again. He reaches up to touch the back of his head: it comes away shining wet and red with blood.

Erik is standing over him, looking down at him in disgust.

nigga-if-you-dont-get-the-fuck-up, he says, exasperated. you-think-i-got-all-day?

Yes, T'Challa replies honestly. Erik clenches his jaw and pushes forward menacingly. T'Challa stands to his feet with his hands raised, feeling the dark around them push him upright. Peace, cousin. Who was she?

who?-that-old-bitch? he laughs. you-dont-need-to-worry-about-her. And he bares his arm and taps one of the scars there: see-i-take-care-of-MY-business.

T'Challa feels a wave of dizziness hit him. Not her, he says, blinking hard. Your mother, my uncle's wife... who was she?

Erik grabs him by the throat and holds him up, choking and kicking.

you-dont-talk-about-her, he says quietly, throwing him down, and T'Challa is falling, falling--

 

* * *

 

'Baby, come get your son,' Mama calls, startling Erik. 'Looks like he's off in Wakanda again!' She crawls down into his fort, looks around at his taped up drawings with a smile: him on a rhino, him in the garden, him and his parents and the smiling sun.

From the kitchen, Baba calls: 'Leave him where he is!'

'Ma-ma,' Erik giggles, turning away from the maps, 'you already found me.' Mama ducks her head over his shoulder, looks down at Baba's drawings. Sometimes she gets upset when he and Baba talk about Wakanda - but most days she lets them believe.

'No, I don't think I did.' She hums. 'Hmm. Are you... here?' And she points to the Jabari-lands on the map.

'No!' Erik crows, delighted.

'What!' She kisses him all over his forehead until he falls over to the side. He beams up at her helplessly. 'Well, are you... here?' And she points to Upanga.

'No, Mama!' Erik says, laughing when she starts tickling him, 'I'm right here!'

 

* * *

 

what-do-you-know-about-me? Erik spits. His fists break through T'Challa's block with ease. you-dont-know-nothing!-you-never-had-to-fight-for-nothing-in-your-life!-but-see-me?-where-im-from?-i-had-to-learn-to-fight!-and-thats-why-im-still-here!-and-youre-never-getting-rid-of-me.

 

* * *

 

His roommate welcomes him with a noose on the door.

 

* * *

 

and-im-strong-now-aint-i? Erik pants, sallow-skinned and dripping sweat, his fists red with T'Challa's blood. i-never-flinch.

 

* * *

 

'I'm not saying no, baby,' says Geneva. 'I'm just saying, not right now.'

Erik snaps the box shut, shoves it in his pocket and gets to his feet. Geneva stiffens when he stands above her. That face she only sometimes shows him - he sees it now. He sees her.

'Not right now, huh,' he repeats, softly, watching her. 'So when? Hm?'

'I think,' says Geneva, walking backwards, 'you've got a lot of anger-- you've got a lot of things to be angry about,' she corrects herself, 'and you haven't ever been told that it's ok to be angry. And it is, baby, it is ok. But you gotta work through it! You gotta let it go,' she scrabbles her hands on his face. 'Or it's gonna bury you, Erik.'

'I'm not working through it?' he breathes. 'You think I'm not working through it? You think _I_ don't know how it feels - to live with this everyday? You think I'm not working through it?!' He said he wouldn't ever yell at her, why is she saying these things? Why is she making him yell at her?

'Erik, we've been watching C-SPAN for over two hours!' she cries, why is _she_ crying? 'All 'cus you want to get a look at the fucking prince of Wuganda. Listen. Baby. Baby! Stay with me. Look at me. Huh? Look at me.' He looks at her. He cannot believe he would've married this woman. 'It is not your fault... that your dad fed you that fairytale. It is not. your. fault that he fucked you up.' She kisses him desperately and he feels cold, so cold. 'But you need help, baby. You need help.'

He pulls free from her and takes a short, sharp breath. He stares at her trembling-- then he yanks the TV out of the plug and throws it against the wall. She buries her face in her hands and sobs.

'I don't need nothing from nobody,' he says, while she cries like a child. Like a bitch. He doesn't care. He's done with her. 'But it looks like you're gonna need a new TV.'

 

* * *

 

i-know-you-though, says Erik, walking slowly around him. T'Challa's wrists are throbbing from throwing the TV wrong; his entire body aches. He has never felt this beaten before. course-i-know-you.

the-first-wakandan-in-centuries-to-go-to-school-abroad. Erik smiles down at him. published-in-the-guardian-AND-PNAS.

the-apple-of-his-fathers-fuckin-eye! He laughs scornfully. the-RADICAL.

 

* * *

 

'Your dad ever tell you what happened to his brother?' Erik mumbles to himself. That too aggressive? He's not trying to get run through by that chick Okoye. He looks himself over in the mirror critically - then he changes his shirt. He'll only have a few seconds to get in there, and get some answers. 'Hey, man, wassup, I heard you was from Wakanda--' Nah, that's too informal. 'Excuse me-- Prin-- T'Challa, I--'

He stares at himself.

Well. He'll figure it out when he gets there. Glasses on or off?

He thinks of what he knows of his cousin T'Challa, his cool, removed confidence. His unshakeable integrity. The way he spoke so highly, so wistfully of his uncle's research on community planning and generational poverty. The way he made Erik think there was a chance, some way out of all of this.

Glasses off. Definitely.

From the hostel to the shop, it's about 33 minutes on the subway. The tube. Whatever. Google Maps said 23, though, which is obviously a heap of lies, so Erik is sweaty and out of breath by the time he gets there. He's lucky. Just like the last four months since coming to Oxford, T'Challa is spending the first Sunday of the month in a hole-in-the-wall bake shop.

Erik even knows what's in T'Challa's bag. Hot cross buns, sweating with butter and sugar and oil. A shared favourite.

But he's not alone.

'Eh-ehh, mkhangele,' says Princess Shuri, peering at Erik out of the corner of her eye, laughing into T'Challa's shoulder. Erik flicks away his annoyance, because what does she know?, and he opens his mouth to answer back--

But then T'Challa turns - and he is himself again, he sees himself turn, he sees himself look at Erik, he sees the clothing the man is wearing, how unkempt his hair looks, how sweaty and hungry and sad he appears - and he dismisses Erik with barely a glance.

'E-eh-excuse me, man,' says the man behind the counter. Erik comes back to himself, and sees that he is alone in the shop. Probably he could run after them. Probably he could catch them. He's fast. Nothing gets past him! 'We do not loiter here. Either buy something, or leave.'

Erik pats his pockets down like an idiot, like he doesn't know he cleaned out his savings to come here. Like he doesn't only have an Oyster card to his name.

'Either buy something,' says the man, overenunciating, 'or _leave_.'

Erik leaves.

 

* * *

 

i-know-you, says Erik. there-was-never-ever-gonna-be-any-other-way-with-you.

 

* * *

 

\--and they are again in the throne room.

T'Challa is T'Challa, and he is watching as the doors slam behind Erik, tall in his bonds, red-eyed with fury and exhaustion, trembling with rage.

The council leaps to their feet, shouting out questions - T'Challa holds up his hand until he has silence.

He shakes his head, trying to remember-- there is something he must remember. He must _think_.

What is there to think about? This man, this Erik Stevens, is a monster. Regardless of his parentage, he would stop at nothing to destroy all that T'Challa loves.

'Brother,' says Shuri, hissing, 'what will we do?'

T'Challa takes in the words as he tries to stand, though he does not respond. His vision blurs and he reaches out to touch the back of his head. Wet. Red. No one else seems to notice.

What will we do?

burn-it-all, says someone, but he looks around and sees that no one has spoken. His heart is heavy within him; he feels as though he might weep.

He comes to a limping stop in front of Erik, this stranger, and he watches him stiffen even further.

They watch each other.

say-something, Erik hisses quietly, his teeth glinting gold. i-dare-you-go-head-say-some--

And T'Challa puts his hands on his cousin's shoulders.

'Prince N'Jadaka. Son of Prince N'Jobu.' Erik freezes. 'You must be tired. I know you have travelled a long way. But you are home now, cousin. Come, let us get you out of these chains.'

The throne room, the council, Shuri, his mother, Okoye and the other Dora Milaje, all fade away as into nothing - and the two of them are left standing in darkness.

T'Challa pulls away the chains like shavings of bark. They melt away and Erik falls to his knees, clawing at his face with a scream of rage. And then he lets T'Challa see his face.

you-think-that-means-anything-at-all? he says, voice raw and filled with pain. He gets to his feet and shoves T'Challa back, straining his neck so hard the veins pop out. you-think-that-undoes-any-of-it?-HUH?-nah-son-thats-not-how-it-works!-cus-when-it-really-mattered-you-said-wakandas-not-meant-for-people-like-ME-yea-yea-you-member-that-shit?-ha-haah-you-said-i-was-a-monster-but-now-that-you-want-me-gone-im-your-cousin?-nah-you-aint-my-fuckin-family-you-aint-fuckin-NOBODY-ill-make-sure-of-it-ill-burn-it-ALL- _burn_ - _it_ - _burn_ - _em_ - _fight_ - _em_ - _kill_ - _em_ - _kill_ - _em_ -they-wont-even-REMEMBER-YOUR-NAME-ha-haaah-yea-yea-you-damn-right-wakandas-not-for-people-like-me-im-not-like-none-of-yall-i-dont-leave-MY-family-behind-and-i-will-never-NEVER-NEVER-leave-him--

Ah, thinks T'Challa.

'I am sorry we kept you from your father,' says T'Challa, grabbing Erik's fists and holding them still. Erik is breathing hard and shallow, struggling and staring at T'Challa like he's stabbed him all over again.

T'Challa tugs him closer and looks him over. He looks, T'Challa sees, very much like his father. 'I am sorry we left you two behind. We did not-- I did not mean to leave you here alone. Let me take you to him. Please.'

Erik collapses like his spirit has been cut loose. He weeps with wounded throat--

\--and it is this sound which follows T'Challa into the waking day, nudged awake by the mouthing of a very curious seaturtle.

T'Challa blinks up dazily at the blue sky above. He takes account of his senses, and sits up, looking around him. The water is calm. The air is fresh and good. The seaturtle has left him and is now inching towards the ocean.

T'Challa has survived. There is still more life to be lived.

He looks at the soulfarer, now a piercing beautiful black: a piece of nightsky at his fingers.

Glory to Bast, he thinks, placing it in his lap. He lends it his tears till he can water it no more.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

His love stands at the front of the classroom, correcting a young girl's stance. 'Eyes this way, Javarius,' Nakia tells a distracted boy. 'What is out the window? Look at me, please.'

T'Challa, resting comfortably in the tree branches across from their classroom, holds a finger to his lips. _Shh_. Javarius gapes, his eyes round like little moons, and he turns back to the front of the class so fast his dreads slap his friend in the face.

T'Challa laughs aloud, and three, four, five students near the open window look up.

And suddenly they are rushing the windows, twenty-so children, their faces alive with joy as they reach out for him.

'King T'Challa!' they sing. 'King T'Challa, come here, come here!' His heart brightens within him. Yes - it is a good thing to be here.

'Yes, my King,' says Nakia, arms folded, still at the front of the class, in a voice he alone can hear. 'Won't you come in? And please use the door. Before you inspire my students to jump to their deaths.'

He climbs back down the tree sheepishly. Okoye watches him with a carefully contained expression. 'Okoye,' he warns, picking the leaves off of his suit, 'do not start.'

'Ehnn,' says Okoye, unsheathing her smile, 'I said nothing, my King.'

Dianna, Shuri and Sandra take one look at him when he comes through the door of the Centre and burst out into laughter.

'Bro, I _told_ you you would be back,' Shuri says, cackling. 'You just can't stay away, can you?'

'I did so for many years,' he says, taking her in his arms, 'and I will never do so again. Now let me look at you. But what is this? Sister, I have never seen you so happy before.'

'What can I say, hey,' says Shuri, shrugging, 'these girls just speak my language.'

'What, really?' says T'Challa, impressed. He turns to Dianna and Sandra while Okoye and Shuri make their greetings. 'Ninjani? Eh?'

'Yea-a-a, we good,' says Dianna, grinning. Sandra elbows her madly, giggling like a child. Shuri makes a gagging face. He remembers that one of them always seems very shy around Okoye. They must be very smitten. 'You good?'

'I am very good, thank you, I am here to--' They all look up at the _ding!_ of the lift reaching the bottom floor. The door opens - and T'Challa's heart melts within him. His love is here.

'My King,' Nakia says warningly, stepping out into the lobby. 'What are you doing here?'

'Nakia,' he breaths. She is a vision before him, standing there in a pair of old leggings and a faded Fanta shirt. '--Hi.'

'Tcheww.' Nakia pulls a face and turns on her heel without greeting the others. T'Challa stumbles after her towards the staircase, barely managing a 'good evening'. Laughter follows after the two of them - and Okoye, as always, follows them, too.

Nakia flies up above him as if she truly means to lose him. He follows at a distance, keeping his hands to himself.

'I have upset you,' he observes, meekly. His voice echoes out in the staircase around them.

'Yes, you have upset me!' says Nakia. 'I look at your face and I know that you have come to me because you need something from me.'

He falters on the stair landing, while she continues on. They had not spoken concretely of anything, but he had thought-- he had _presumed_ \--

Nakia sees that he has stopped, and goes back down a few steps, looking closely at him. She opens her arms. 'Come.'

He obeys. His head she wraps her arms around, and her chin she rests upon him. He drinks in the scent of her, and feels himself relaxing for the first time in weeks. 'Do not look so, my love,' she says, 'we belong to each other. You are allowed to need things from me. You are allowed to ask for things from me.'

And now she pushes him back, and stares him straight in the eyes.

'But you cannot treat my life like it is secondary to yours. This is my mission. You said you believed in me. You said you understood why this was so important to me. So you cannot just interrupt my life when it suits you! Ehhn.'

'Ndicela uxolo, my love,' he says, shamed. 'You are right. I have no excuse. I have made it difficult for you to trust me, and that is something I said I would never do.'

But this makes Nakia frown. 'T'Challa,' she sighs, shaking her head, 'truly, you are the worst.'

His stomach quakes. 'Nakia--' Has he truly been so careless that she can no longer trust him?

'Oh, don't make that face,' Nakia says, kissing him sweetly. 'How am I supposed to stay angry with you when you apologise so prettily?'

'I can apologise more, if you like,' he says, grinning against her mouth, 'if this is the end result.'

Every kiss from her, he thinks, light in the head, is the first for his lips.

'A- _hem_ ,' says Okoye, discreetly. Nakia and T'Challa fly apart.

'Oh! Yes. The children will be wanting to see you now, I'm sure,' Nakia says, a bit jumbled.

'Ah, yes, the-the children.' T'Challa nods dumbly. 'And after-- we will speak after?'

'Oh, I think I can fit you in,' Nakia says teasingly, winking.

'For Bast's _sake_ ,' Okoye mutters.

 

* * *

 

'Molweni, Uncle, Aunt,' says T'Challa, some hours later, stopping slow before the headstones. As one, he and Shuri dip their heads.

He raises his head again and can find no words. What can one say here? Behind him he hears Nakia and Okoye praying. He breathes in their strength, and lets it drive him forward.

'I am sorry we are so late in coming,' he says, 'but I have brought him home.' The soulfarer trembles gold and green in his hands. 'I have brought him here to you.'

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The Prince goes unnamed for four days and four nights. They name him T'Chaka on the fifth day, after his grandfather, the great King.  
  
They call him Erik.

 

 


End file.
